


Welcome to Club Valhalla

by disasteratsea



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective!Clint, More tags and characters to come, noir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disasteratsea/pseuds/disasteratsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The disappearance of Phil Coulson has Detective Clint Barton investigating a local club, but there may be more to the case than his missing friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

      Phil Coulson had always had a habit of bringing in strays. That’s how Clint had met him after all, fighting and stealing to survive. At the time Coulson had been a young cop, one of the good ones who really believed that people could be saved from themselves. “One of these days that big heart of yours is gonna get you in trouble.” Clint had told him more than once. Phil had smiled; he thought people were worth the trouble. Clint knew better though, he knew how people really were, who they were in the dark when there wasn’t anyone to put a show on for. He had learned the hard way. But he wasn’t that naïve kid anymore, and he wasn’t going to let that happen to him again; and he sure as Hell wasn’t going to let it happen to Coulson, he owed him that much, at least.

      Club Valhalla was one of those popular lounges where people would go to listen to music and have a drink to their hearts content. One of those dimly lit clubs that still managed to be a step up from the seedy bars he himself preferred. Coulson had never mentioned it but there had been a matchbook on the table of his ransacked apartment when Clint had started looking for him; green and gold with the name and address of the club on it. It was the closest thing he had to a lead. From what he knew it was run by two brothers of Scandinavian descent, the Odinsons, Thor and Loki. It looked like it was run out of what was originally a theater, judging by the looks of the stage. It was all dark woods with gold and black accents. Each of the circular tables had a tealight in a red glass holder in the center. He felt woefully underdressed in his wrinkled suit compared to everyone else in the joint. “Bourbon on the rocks” he ordered from the man behind the bar and sat down on one of the wooden stools. Old money, he had heard the Odinsons called, the family had immigrated in the early 20s and their businesses had prospered. If what people said was true it was the younger brother, Loki, who was behind all the success.

      Useless as they always were, the other cops at Phil’s precinct had done nothing to help find him when he’d gone missing. The thing was, not even Bruce knew what he’d been up to recently. “He’s been real quiet lately. Hasn’t said a word to anyone about what he’s been working on.” Bruce had told him “you think he was hiding it from the rest?” half the cops in town were crooked; it gave Phil plenty reason to keep information from them. No real reason to hide it from _him_ though, Clint wasn’t even a cop, just a private investigator without much actual work to do. he just helped Coulson out if he needed a hand and in return his friend would send work his way if any came up.

      Coulson had told him that he’d make a good cop, once “there’s not many of those around here these days, this city could use a man like you on the force.”

      “A street rat with bad hearing?” he had said around a cigarette.

      “No,” Coulson had leveled him with one of his meaningful stares “a good man."

      At the time Clint had brushed him off with a harsh laugh. He wasn’t a good man, he thought, not by a long shot. Phil always saw the good in people, one day it would get him killed. Jesus, he hoped that wasn’t the case.

      “You’re new here.” A voice said from beside him. He turned to see a man with curly hair trying to get the bartenders attention. Clint didn’t say anything, just glanced at the man and returned to his drink. “I’m Happy, by the way.”

      “That’s nice, good for you.” Weird guy.

      “Oh, no,” the happy man laughed loudly “My name is Happy, Happy Hogan.”

      “Barton.” He turned back to his drink in dismissal, but the man still stood there looking at him. “Something I can do for you, Happy Hogan?”

      “For starters, you could tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.” Happy said with a sharp smile and a shift of his shoulders like he was getting ready for a fight.

      Clint raised his eyebrows and shook his drink in Happy’s face, half melted ice clinking around in the glass.

      “You really expect me to believe you’re just here for a drink?” Happy tried to knock the glass from Clint’s hand but missed when he pulled it back.

      “You’re right; I really came for the lovely company. Tell me,” he stared down the now red-faced man “is yours a sarcastic nickname, Mr. Hogan?”

      “Happy!” A man clapped Hogan’s shoulder from behind, interrupting whatever he was planning on saying. “How long does it take to get a drink? Go sit down, I’ll get it.” Hogan looked like he was about to argue but the man dipped his chin and artfully lifted an eyebrow and Hogan turned on his heel toward the back.

      “Sorry about that, Happy takes his job very seriously, sometimes too seriously in fact; it’s something we’re working on.” The new man says. His off-white suit probably cost more than Clint’s rent.

      Tony Stark, genius inventor extraordinaire, Clint would recognize him anywhere. The competitive relationship between Tony Stark and his older brother Howard was the stuff of legend. He spent most of his late nights out at Club Valhalla these days, he liked the feel of the place, whatever that meant. Clint took it to mean he liked the booze, the girls, and the gambling. Tony Stark also spent most of his nights out, and was on good terms with the owners. “What brings you to our little slice of Heaven? Is it a girl? Are you drowning the sorrows of a broken heart?”

      “No,” Clint laughed along with Stark “my pal Phil mentioned this place, thought I’d drop in.”

      “Phil?” Tony said. He was partially distracted with staring at a woman down at the end of the bar, sending drinks her way.

      “Phil Coulson.”

      “Middle aged, thinning hair, kinda quiet but like he knows something you don’t?” Clint nodded to the affirmative.

      Stark knows him, he’s come by a lot in the past couple of months, Tony tells him. Only lately he hasn’t stopped by. Stark sounds like he’s personally offended by Phil’s lack of attendance. He drags Clint over to his table and introduces him as a friend of Coulson’s. Happy still eyes him suspiciously but the woman with them smiles fondly.

      “A friend of Phil’s?” she smiles, Tony’s face scrunches up and he cuts in asking “Phil? It’s Coulson, no first name, since when are you on first name basis?” The woman completely ignores him “I’m Pepper, Mr. Stark’s keeper.” Here she gives the aforementioned man a sharp look, clearly meaningful between the two of them, it gives him the impression that they’re close, and Stark looks at her fondly when she turns away.

      Pepper is tall and thin and wears heels that make Clint wonder how she can even walk.Her cheeks are rosy and smile bright; her eyes are kind, Clint thinks, this is the kind of woman Phil would instantly like: clever and elegant yet humble all at once.

      “Are you Clint?” She asks to his surprise “I feel like we’ve already met, Phil’s told me a lot about you.”

      “Has he?” that could make things much more difficult, he doesn’t want anyone knowing he’s a PI, it would just make them wary of him.

      “I hear you play a mean game of billiards, Mr. Barton.”

      He has to laugh because of all the things he could have told people about him, Coulson tells them about his skill in bar games. “I’m not half bad, darts is more my game.”

      The night wears on and he pulls pieces of information out of them bit by bit. Happy used to be a boxer, even went a few rounds with Battlin’ Jack Murdock once, before retiring and becoming Stark’s bodyguard. Tony collects cars, actual cars not toys or models, and likes to work on them himself. He’s never hired a mechanic and never will. He doesn’t like to be handed things. Pepper and Stark bicker like an old married couple; Pepper usually gets the last word and remembers anything and everything that slips her bosses mind.

      Once the liquor has loosened their lips enough he brings up Coulson. “You know,” he says conversationally “I didn’t even know Phil came here so often. I feel kind of left out.”

      He asks if he usually spends the evenings at their table, if he meets anyone there, if he ever mentioned what brought him there in the first place. It’s a fine line to walk, fishing for information without sounding suspicious. He hadn’t always been so good at it. When Clint had started out he hadn’t been one for subtlety, instead he would rely more on brute force and intimidation. “That’s not the way” Phil had tried to explain “you’ll scare people off acting like that, no one will want to tell you anything.” If anything it did more harm than good. Clint hadn’t understood for the longest of times, sometimes still fell back on his old ways if he was losing his patience. It had taken years to get out of the mindset of the brawling street rat he was, Phil would often say he’d catch more flies with honey than he would with vinegar. Phil was fond of idioms back then, probably still was, he liked riddles and word games and did the crossword in the paper every Saturday.

      “Phil comes for the music.” Pepper says with a smile.

      “That’s not what he comes for.” Tony says loudly and leans forward conspiratorially “Well, I mean, it sort of is, but it’s not. See, Coulson comes to see his lady friend.”

      “Oh not this again.” Pepper sighs. “Don’t be lewd, Tony.”

      “I’m not being lewd.” He argues back at her “they’re clearly having an affair.”

      “You think everyone’s having an affair.”

      “Not everyone, just the people that are. Come on, look at the facts,” he waves his hands dramatically “Happy tell her the facts.”

      Happy clears his throat and downs the rest of his drink. “She’s a beautiful young woman with possible daddy issues, he pretty much never misses a night, she’s a sultry lounge singer, he _claims_ to love music. There’s been eye contact and touching, it was all very intimate.”

      “They’re lovers.” Tony beams, a kid in a candy store.

      If Phil had a lover this is the first he’s hearing of it. Phil just wasn’t the type to have secret relationships - aside fromthat, he was still pretty hung up on Audrey, but people can always surprise you. He could be leading a whole other life here that Clint didn’t know anything about. “She’s a singer here?” he asks.

      Stark is still aglow with his joy. “Mmm, and your friend never misses a night she performs.”

      Two nights later Clint returns to Club Valhalla to see this singer of Phil’s “Don’t listen to Tony, he has an overactive imagination.” Pepper had said.

      The woman, red dress, red lips, short red curls, is already crooning the blues when he gets there. The table he sits at is far from the stage, he shouldn’t be visible at all, still, it feels like there are eyes on him. Ridiculously, he thinks they’re her eyes. The woman’s voice is low and her body sways along with the music.

      Clint _knows_ people, makes a living out of knowing people, he can always tell, and this woman is beautiful, but he can tell that she’s dangerous. This woman, whose voice is almost hypnotic, who has the attention of every customer in the room, who languidly walks off stage and slips a drink out of a man’s hand before leaning back against the stage and finishing her set; this woman is a threat when she wants to be. There is something distinctly predatory about the way she moves that has the hairs rising on his arms.

      This isn’t a person Coulson would get himself entangled with, there’s no way they’re lovers; but if not that, then what?

      It’s the first he’s ever seen Natasha Romanoff and already he knows she’s going to be important to this case.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter

               By the time Steve woke up from the long nap that he had never meant to take – over a year later, the doctors said it was a miracle – the war was over and the world had started to move on.  The window was open and he could hear the hustle and bustle of the city over the radio that was playing in the corner. There was a stack of paperbacks by it, and an uncomfortable looking chair over by the window. It took him awhile to remember what happened; and then he wished he hadn’t remembered because every time he closed his eyes he saw Bucky screaming in pain, his side covered in blood and his own hands pressed against his maimed arm trying to stem the flow. _You’re gonna be ok Buck, you’ll be ok._

          Bucky wasn’t ok, but he was alive, and that was something at least. The both of them had gone to Hell and somehow made it out alive; they had survived, and Steve would always be grateful for that.

          The thing was that he wasn’t sure how to help, Bucky didn’t want to talk about it and Steve didn’t want to push the issue for fear of making it worse but he grew more and more distant by the day.

          At night Steve could hear him wearing the floorboards down with frustrated pacing.

          “Give it some time” Peggy had written in her last letter “what’s important is that you take care of yourself so you can be there for him when he’s ready.”

          Steve liked to think of himself as a patient man, but part of him wanted to ask them how much time. It’s not as though he’s the same person he was when they left either. He had trouble sleeping these days, between the mattress being too soft and the nightmares, he barely slept at all. Instead he would stay awake until his body couldn’t handle it anymore. He would sit up and listen to Bucky stumbling around, draw when he could keep his hands steady enough, but mostly he would go out and wander the city. His Ma woulda boxed his ears if she was around to see him walking around alone at night, no matter how big he’d gotten or what kind of combat he’d seen in the war. _Stay with Bucky_ , she always told him.

          _Don’t go running into trouble_ , she used to tell him that too.

          The city felt different at night, freer, maybe, he didn’t know, he just liked it. That was how he had found the club in the first place, gone for a walk at an unreasonable hour and stuck in a sudden rain storm, he had run for the protection of the old theatre to find it had reopened as a nightclub during his lost year.

          He had gone in for shelter from the rain and found himself returning whenever he couldn’t sleep. It was nice to be somewhere that nobody knew him, he didn’t have to be Steve, who looked out for everyone; or Captain Rogers, who never left a man behind. At Club Valhalla he could just be Steve, who was kept up by nightmare-like memories that he didn’t want to remember but could never forget.

          The plane was going down, there was no way to stop it, he could hear Peggy crying over the radio. _Don’t be late_ , she choked, and he had promised to be there but the plane was rushing toward the water and there was nothing he could do.

          More often than not he wakes in a cold sweat just as it hits. He was going to say something but can never remember what it was as the cold sets in. “Steve. You in there?” A voice snaps him out of his thoughts, he manages not to look startled when he recognizes Sam giving him one of those looks.

          “Oh, hi.”

          “Oh, hi.” His friend laughs and tosses his hat onto the table. “I’ve been talking to you the past five minutes.”

          “Sorry” he says and thanks God for the dim lighting that covers up his blush. He had always been an easy blusher, it was terrible. “I got a little lost in thought.”

          “You know, you keep walkin’ around with your head in the clouds you’re gonna fall in the river.” Sam says easily. Sam says everything easily, like nothing touches him.

          Steve lifts one shoulder and grins. “I think it’s more likely I’ll get hit by a trolley.”

          “Ah, like a true Brooklyn-boy.”

          “There’s really no better way to go.”

          Another easy smile, another easy laugh, it’s the kind of thing he had been coming here for. There’s a dark red rose pinned to the lapel of Sam’s jacket, fresh cut and not fully bloomed, not something he had seen him wearing before. 

          “Natasha.” Sam shrugs when he asks about it. Someone had sent her roses and she had shared them among the house band. It wasn’t all that uncommon for Natasha to receive gifts from hopeful suitors. “You should’ve seen the note, though. _Roses, red as your beautiful hair_.”

          He cringes. “That’s not so bad.”

          The look Sam levels him with is both sad and amused. “That’s just the first line. You stickin’ around awhile?”

          When Sam heads to the back to get ready for work Steve stays and looks around at the other people around the club. He’s used to seeing Howard’s brother Tony there, laughing with his group of friends, new people coming and going all the time. Nearly everything about Tony Stark irritates him, he’s not even sure why, but the other man doesn’t seem to like him either.         

          Tony irritates everyone, mostly on purpose, Steve thinks. He’s really not all that bad, Howard had told him after he had first met Tony. Then again, if he didn’t actually know Howard Stark he’d probably find him irritating too.

          There’s a shout of laughter from Tony’s group and Steve looks over to see Stark slapping a man he’s never seen on the back with a smile. The man doesn’t look like the sort he’s used to seeing with them, his clothes are crumpled and old, his face dark with days old stubble. Most of the people he had seen joining Tony at his table were well dressed and loud, but this man was neither of those things. It takes half an hour of watching the man watch Natasha as she sings lowly to Sam’s accompaniment on the piano for Steve to realize that he knows him.

          Clint Barton had been at the same basic training camp that Steve had. For a few weeks they had bunked together, eaten together, and had the General scream at them together. It seemed like a million years ago that they had met. “A little light reading?” Barton had joked and flipped through the heavy books Steve had brought with him. “You don’t really think you’ll have time for these, do you?” Steve had shrugged and told him that there was more to fighting a war than shooting the other guy. “It’s important.” Steve had said.

          Back then Barton was easy to laugh, the man he saw now looked about a hundred years older. _War changes us all_ , Peggy had once said to him, and didn’t he know it. He wonders how it had changed Clint.

         


	3. Chapter 3

Clint drops onto the beat-up old sofa with a grunt, too tired to even walk the few feet to his bedroom. He likes the sofa better anyway, he thinks it was originally some shade of purple but he bought it from a fella who had bought it from another fella so who knows. The springs are broken and his body just sinks down into it; laying down face first it's almost like he's been swallowed whole and will never have to deal with the painful day-to-day again. “You should get a new couch,” Phil was always saying with _that_ look (with the pinched skin between his eyebrows and the slightest hint of disapproval) “and don't lay on it like that, it's bad for your back.” He was always quick to defend his sofa though, even if it was old and had a suspicious looking burn mark, he just turned the cushion over and the problem was solved.

 

If he could spend the rest of time sleeping and ignoring the outside world he would. As it was he had a missing friend, no real suspects and good old Steve Rogers and Tony Stark had almost blown it for him earlier. Rogers was just about the last person he'd expected to run into at Club Valhalla, but lo, there he had been.

  

* * *

A throat cleared behind him and Tony had scoffed out an “evening Cap” before he had turned around to see who it was. “Stark.” Rogers had greeted cordially. He nodded a hello to Pepper and Happy and turned a smile to Clint. “Barton, it's been awhile.”

 

“Hell of a long time.” He smiled back, it was physically impossible not to smile back at Steve, who may well have been born with a heart of gold and nerves of steel.

 

Tony perked up as he always did at new information “wait wait wait,” he held up a hand “are you friends with Captain America?”

 

Steve bristled at the name. “We were in basic training together.” Clint shrugged by way of explanation and tried to steer the conversation away from where he suspected it was going. “Feels like a lifetime ago. How've you been?”

 

“I've been doing well.” He replied with the practiced ease of a man who had repeated those words over and over. “And you? How's Bobbi?”

 

Bobbi. Bobbi was a long and messy story, always had been probably always would be. They were on and off all the time, couldn't be around each other without finding something to fight about and couldn't remember why they were apart when they were. They'd gotten engaged when he enlisted, stayed happily engaged while he was away at war, and broken it off not so long after he came home. Bobbi. He loved Bobbi, even if they drove each other mad.

 

“Been doin’ alright. You know Tony, Pepper, and Happy?” He asked, gesturing to each of them in turn. Tony seemed pleased to have been brought back in to the conversation.

 

“Oh we’ve met, in fact –“

 

Pepper cut Tony off with an elbow to the side. “Yes, we've met. Captain Rogers it's so good to see you again.”

 

“Ms. Potts, please, it's just Steve.

 

Peppers smile could light up the room. “Alright Steve, if that’s the case, you can call me Pepper.”

 

Beside her Tony squawked indignantly “what so he's _Steve_ now?” Pepper puffed out her rosy cheeks to bicker with Tony, it was such a common occurrence that it was almost to be expected. Happy wasn’t fazed, so used to the constant arguing, but Steve looked uncomfortable. His lips were pressed together in a straight line and his posture was too good to be normal.

 

He lead Steve away by the elbow, for once grateful for the tension between Tony and Pepper; they were so caught up in each other that they wouldn’t notice them leaving.

 

Steve kept looking back over his shoulder and scratching behind his ear sheepishly.

 

“Don’t worry about it, they’re always like that.” Weeks of spending evening after evening with them had taught him that much.

 

He made all the appropriate small talk: Steve’s sharing an apartment with the friend he had told Clint so much about, he’s been doing art for some advertisements, has a complicated thing going on with a woman overseas.

 

Steve held himself the way people expected of a war hero, but Clint was used to looking for cracks in people’s armor. On closer inspection he saw that Steve looked bone-deep tired.  His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes the way it used to; there were darks shadows under them and a stiffness in his shoulders, like he had been forcing himself to stand straight. Steve was tired, and Clint understood that, because he was tired too. Had been since he came back. He didn’t know what Rogers went through over there and he won’t ask, but he knows its left him changed.

 

“I hav’ta say, I didn’t think I’d see you in here.” Clint grinned with one side of his mouth and leaned forward a bit “Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve laughed “I like it here though, don’t tell anyone. I have an image to maintain.”

 

“You’re here a lot, aren’t you Cap?” Tony slid his way over, Pepper followed close behind, cheeks flushed and voice sharp. “Tony.” She warned.

 

“I’m being nice.” He waved her off with little care, a wide smile stretched across his flushed face. “See?” His hand clasped tightly onto Steve’s shoulder. All Clint saw was a man too far into his cups and a situation about to go wrong.

 

“What are you doing here anyway? Wait – don’t tell me,” Tony held his arms aloft before them and waved his fingers in imitation of a stage magician “you’re here to set a good example for all the little boys and girls, right? Keep them away from the evils of music and liquor?”

 

Steve didn’t bother to respond.

 

“Y’know, Howie talks about you a lot. The _Great Captain America_ and the Howling Commandos, the scourge of bad guys everywhere. He’s always saying how loyal and brave you are, always does the right thing, he says. He thinks you’re a real hero; me? I just don’t see it. Hey,” he snapped his fingers “aren’t you supposed to be all hung up on that Carter woman? But she’s all the way over in jolly old England and you’re here, what like, every other night? I’ve gotta say, I never woulda thought you could do it, you sly dog. I’ve seen you, hanging around, chatting with Red,” Tony’s smile turned salacious “has she taken you backstage?”

 

“Howard talked about you too.” Steve said, stepping closer and crowding Tony. “Said you were supposed to be some kind of genius, but all I see is an asshole who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

 

“Okay.” Clint stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. “It’s getting late and we’ve all had enough to drink. I think it’s about time we all get going.”

 

Pepper sighed as if to say _yes, thank you, finally someone who makes sense_. “Good idea. Come on Tony.”

 

She laid her hands on Tony’s shoulders and started to guide him back to their table. But Tony was unable to let it go without having the last word. “Hey, how’s Barnes doing these days?”

 

Quick as a whip Steve had thrown a punch, cracking Tony square in the chin and back into a table. Tony grasped his jaw and guffawed “well, shit”. In an instant Happy had jumped between the two men, fists raised and blocking Steve’s path. He looked more serious than Clint had ever seen him. It was easy to forget that Happy Hogan hit people for a living; most of the time he seemed like a chump, a well-meaning chump, but a chump nonetheless. He hit Steve twice: once the jaw and once in his left temple.

 

Beside him Pepper shrieked at them to stop _for God’s sake, just stop it._

 

It was a giant of a man that finally stepped in to stop the fight. By then the band had stopped playing, the fight had gathered the attention of most of the club, and Clint’s nose was bleeding heavily from his failed attempt at breaking the whole thing up.

 

“That’s enough.” The man’s deep, lightly accented voice interrupted. He escorted Happy to the bar, a possibly concussed Steve followed behind; Tony mostly stumbled along with Pepper angrily supporting his weight. Clint followed with his head tipped back to stem the flow of blood. The man requested some ice from the bartender with a soft smile.

 

Clint took the opportunity to size him up. Tall and broad shouldered; his blond hair was slightly curly; expensive suit with a red silk tie. Christ, his bicep must be the size of Clint’s head.

 

“You put on quite the show back there.” The man said, and Tony laughed before the man continued soberly “Don’t let it happen again. My brother doesn’t take too kindly to people bringing trouble into his business. He’s not one to forgive easily.”

 

His brother? Right, so this must be Thor. “And you?” He asked, voice muffled by the napkins held against his nose.

 

Thor smiled “I’m more of a people person.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Odinson.” Pepper left Tony leaning against the bar to approach Thor. “I’m so sorry for all of this. I’m sure Mr. Stark will agree to pay for any damages caused tonight.”

 

The strangled noise Tony made was drowned out by Thor’s deep voice. “Of course, I think you’ve all had enough tonight. You should go home – sleep it off.”

 

 

 

Sleep it off – Clint was so unbelievably tired that it sounded like a far off dream come true. The thought of his couch waiting for him at home made the walk almost pleasant.

 

They drifted apart, Pepper politely said her goodbyes and swiftly walked out, ginger hair swinging as she moved. Happy kept close to Tony as they followed, Tony tried to talk to his assistant but she would only continue on her way and respond with a sharply spoken single word: “Don’t.”

 

Clint and Steve were headed the same way, so they walked together for a few blocks in awkward silence.

 

“Sorry I elbowed you in the nose.” Steve said after two blocks.

 

“Don’t worry about it. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been hit in the face? I don’t even feel it anymore.” He grinned back cheekily.

“Right.”

 

They continued on in silence again, until Clint figured there would be no better time or place to ask. “About your friend, Barnes,” he glanced at his companion “what happened?”

 

The rhythm of Steve’s steps faltered for a moment. “What do you mean?”

 

“I know people, Steve. I can read them pretty well. Tony was running his mouth all night, but it’s him bringing up Barnes that pushed you over the edge. So, what happened to him?”

 

Maybe it was that they were sort of friends; maybe it was that he wasn’t trying to get to him. Maybe he was just tired and needed to talk about it, but Steve relented. He stopped walking, waited until Clint turned back to look at him before speaking.

 

“We were sent on this sabotage mission, nothing new for us; they wanted us to stop the train from getting where it was going, but they wanted us to secure some of the cargo for research or something.

 

Our information was faulty, there wasn’t supposed to be anyone else on the train. I should’ve checked anyway, but I didn’t, and they got the jump on us. Things were fine, we were down to the last guy, and he pulled the pin from the grenade in his belt. We ran for the door, and Buck pushed me out first. He was right behind me. He was almost out the door when it went off.”

 

“He’s alive.” Clint interrupted, trying to bring Steve out of his memory.

 

“He’s alive.” Steve agreed, clearing his throat before he continued. “We all made it out, but he didn’t escape the blast. There was too much damage, they couldn’t save his arm.”

 

Telling Steve he was sorry for his friend would have been meaningless. Of course he was sorry, but what difference would that make? None. Not when they had all seen so much. Done so much. There’s nothing anyone can do to change what had been done. You can’t change the past, Coulson had said years ago, do what you can to make the future better.

 

“It’s not your fault.” He said, clasping the other man’s shoulder in a show of solidarity.

 

It was clear that Steve didn’t think so.

 

They walked in silence from there on, until they went their separate ways with little fanfare.

 

It had been a long night. Clint really just wanted to sleep.


End file.
